


Black, Blue and Glimmering Gold

by northpeach



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha-17 is a Good Parent, Arla Fett Needs a Hug, Arla is traumatized, Bly Needs A Hug, Bly is If You Touch My Ad I Will Kill You Buir, Bly needs medical care, Death Watch is not kind, F/M, Fetts are all reckless and crazy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jango Fett Needs a Hug, Jango Fett is a Little Shit, Jaster Mereel is a history nerd, Jaster Mereel loves to hug his ade, Jaster is Cool Fun Buir, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), Mentions of Slavery, Prison, Tatooine Slave Culture (Star Wars), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, True Mandalorians don't die horribly, in different ways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northpeach/pseuds/northpeach
Summary: Bly's memory isn't as reliable as it has been since he woke up underground.But he remembers the way Aayla smiles at him, he remembers the way a brother told him to run and he remembers gold.But he's here now and he's going to go find his General, maybe stop and help this lost child home first though....Alternatively: Bly discovers a Jango who isn't an asshole who is okay with the slaughter of children and definately approves. However, Death Watch still ain't shit and those necks ain't gonna snap themselves.
Relationships: Arla Fett & CC-5052 | Bly, Arla Fett & Jango Fett, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel
Comments: 77
Kudos: 413





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ......yup. Here I am again.  
> Hi.  
> Glad y'all are still alive in the year of our plague 2020. Two-three more weeks, we can do it, y'all.  
> I did get my wife to look over this, but she is not actually in this fandom so I had to do this without her.  
> Maybe drop a review on one of her fics like, why you no SW?

Bly doesn’t wake, not for a long time. 

Even if he is aware of the pressure against bare skin and the alternating temperatures that cause him to shiver or sweat to bead across his face. He doesn’t wake to the _snap, crack_ of the whip against his back, nor to the claws that rake across his face, but as the days pass, it is pain that draws him back from the dark. 

The cold metal of manacles around his wrists, the dull throbbing of his knees against cool, packed dirt. 

He doesn’t move even as chains rattle and as a weak light flickers in tiny bursts even though he can’t quite open his eyes. Bly takes a deliberate breath, deliberately breathing in long and slow. 

_Ribs_ , is his first immediate thought as pain now screams in his head, followed instantly by, _back._

His arms are numb, lips cracked, throat and mouth dryer then Tatooine and it feels like someone’s poured sand in his eyes and then glued them shut. 

_We release our emotions, our pain into the Force. We breath it back in and then stand and carry on. Lives depend on us. The trick to keeping the pain away is to set it aside and ignore it. But you need to remember, Bly, pain is our body telling us we’re injured. You cannot ignore it forever._

It’s her voice in his head, the memories always there as soon as he tugs them and he barely muffles a noise in the shifting of his chains because the last thing Bly remembers is a fractured and shattered thing that provides nothing to help him determine his situation- beyond the obvious of captured, separated and tortured. 

A breath, another and his fingers twitch as he tries to get his hands to respond to his commands. He moves his eyes, scrunching his face, ignoring the sting of scabbed wounds and manages to crack his eyes open. He’s in a room, surrounded by stone and bars. An electrical lamp flickers erratically in a halo of barely there light in the distance. No one is there.

He is alone. 

He listens, strains his hearing, yet nothing so much as stirs. Bly goes back to restoring the feeling in his body. A minute, two and then an unpleasant rush of pins and needles as sensation returns to his arms. Bly grits his teeth and clenches his thighs, his legs, then curls his toes under his feet, allowing his body weight to force him to rock back, using the momentum to stagger to his feet. 

Lights prickle against what little vision he has and the chains jerk and rattle as he uses them as leverage to remain on his feet. Pain bursts across his back, down his legs, his knees, every motion and contraction of his body, his muscles, sends signals of agony to his brain. 

_“.” _

The word is almost soundless, hissed between clenched teeth and formed from harsh, gasping breaths. Bly cannot help how his body curls over itself, even if it sends the blood rushing to his head and makes him even more dizzy. He braces his feet and _refuses_ to pass out. 

He doesn’t know where Aayla is. He doesn’t know who he was with, what he was doing, if any of his _vod’e_ are here, Bly doesn’t know _anything_. He remembers blue and gold, the blue of Aayla’s skin, the gold of her eyes, maybe the blue of the 501st? Was General Skywalker on mission with them? Was… was Vos there? 

There’s nothing but a blank space in his head, so Bly puts that away for now and takes stock of what he has on hand. Which is, in short, a big fat nothing. He’s in loose pants, thin material, covered in dirt and blood, no shirt, no armor, no weapons- even the small tools disguised as a ring, bracelet- he’s got nothing. 

It looks like he’s chained up underground in a cave somewhere, all smooth stone walls and hard packed dirt floors. 

That’s the only explanation for both his surrounding and the relatively cool atmosphere. There’s a door that’s barely even a door, just a large rectangular slab of rusty bars almost propped against the entryway. He could probably kick it open, depending on how heavy it was, but that was once he found a way out of his chains- 

Bly pauses. 

Looks up at the roof of his cell where the chains are anchored. The very _rusty_ and _chipped_ anchors. 

_Well,_ he thinks, with an edge of amusement to himself _, If I can take my chains with me, I’ll have a weapon._

* * *

Honestly, later, if someone asked how long he was stuck there in the murky darkness working and working to pull the anchor points of his chains from the ceiling, Bly wouldn’t be able to say. He stops and rests when the injuries on his back crack open, spilling blood down his skin and dripping onto the floor, when his ribs scream at him and his breath wheezes as he desperately tries to breathe. He doesn’t ever stop for long though. 

Eventually he gets free, the rest anchor breaking free of crumbling stone and Bly sinks to his knees, wincing as pain flares up again. A moment of stillness, to wait until his breathing slows down enough he can regulate it for sleath. Then he carefully wraps his new weapon around his shoulders, winding them down his arms. 

Slowly, he makes his way to the door that is currently the only obstacle in his way to relative freedom. It is heavy as it looks, but several solid shoves and one frustrated kick and the door is free enough for him to squeeze past it. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about directions at the moment because his cell was located at the end of a hallway and the only way out was forward. So forward Bly went, creeping along the walls on bare feet, moving steadily down to where a single light was valiantly, but ultimately failing at lighting up the area. Bly took a breath and walked past, heading deeper into the caves with no way of knowing which way was out, if anyone was waiting for him on the other end or even if he could find a way out. 

Bly didn’t care because right now, there was an entirely unacceptable amount of space between him and his General and it needed to be rectified, _right karking now_.

* * *

Time passes and Bly has to take a breather, has to sit to wait for his legs, his hands, _everything_ to stop shaking even as chills crawled up his skin. He keeps going, keeps following the eternal hallway he seems to be trapped in. 

Occasionally he’ll come across other cells, but like all of the ones he checked previously, there isn’t anyone in them. Just chains, manacles, shakes, crude stone tables or chairs. The weak lights are not quite evenly spaced out, but every cluster of cells has one in the middle of the block. He’s sure he’s passed about six blocks by now, and still no sign of this hallway ending or branching off. 

A part of him wonders if he’s hallucinating, but the continuous pain for his body begs to tell him differently. He trails bloodstained hands against the wall and so far he hasn’t randomly circled back around so he must be making progress. 

_You were modified to see better in the dark? Compared to humans, or near-humans, Twi’leks vision is considered superior, but without the Force, I’m thinking you’d win at Hide-and-Seek-in-the-Dark. My favorite color? Tell me, if I said blue wh-_ no, _I’m kidding! It’s_ gold _Bly. W- No, not like my eyes! Like_ Master’s- 

Bly can hear Aayla sometimes. The way she laughed, said his name or how she would stare at him. When her mouth softened and she smiled so easily. Bly keeps going. 

* * *

Hours? Maybe days later, Bly hears voices that are, for once, not his or in his head. A soft murmur, nothing clear enough to make out words or the like, but Bly grits his teeth and quickly lunges into the nearest cell and flattens himself in a natural crevice of the walls. He’s lost weight during how ever long he’s been here, so he folds himself easily into the shadows and evens his breath down, ignoring the ever familiar spasm of pain his ribs make with every movement. A beat, two, three, longer and still the voices only murmur. 

Bly slowly moves from his hiding place only to step right back into it as the voices abruptly rise in volume along with a feminine scream of pain that rings off the walls and is swallowed by the darkness that leads down to his cell. Gently, Bly uncoils his chains. 

* * *

When enough time passes he can make out the heavy footfalls of two armored being’s footsteps and the unmistakable sound of dragging feet, Bly closes his eyes and concentrates on his hearing. 

_ “-,  _ _ -”  _

_ “--”  _

The sharp sound of metal against flesh, followed by a harsh vocalizer. 

“ _“ _

A faint moan, a hitched breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, before one of the men laughs. 

See, the thing is Bly isn’t considered Mandalorian. 

In fact, _Manda’yaim_ considers Bly and his brothers to be abominations. Soulless things created in a lab. The good Generals, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, _Aayla Secura-_ they know better. But the _jetii_ have no say in what Mandalore does.

Not to mention General Kenobi’s Duchess is a pacifist in the very worst way. A Mandalorian with a Mandalorian’s stubbornness, determination and pride to be anything _but_ a Mandalorian. Good intention’s Satine Krytze may have had at the beginning but erasing everything that makes Mandalore _Mandalore_ was not the way to go about bringing peace to her people. 

Especially since the Duchess had the final say on if the Clones of _Mand’alor_ Jango Fett should be considered citizens of _Manda’yaim_ . Or rather, she just enforces Prime’s opinion that clones were not real people and this couldn’t be _a people_ or _a part_ of a people. 

Jango Fett may have been some high ranked Mandalorian in certain circles, but the only reason why the clones even knew the languages is because of the instructors who adopted the older batches and how those clones would teach one or two- like Kote who became Cody, who taught Ret who was now Rex. The language and the customs spread from the clones who were actually wanted down to even the shiniest of shinies. 

Of course, there were parts of their culture that they developed all on their own. Being modelled after a Mandalorian, of course, meant that they shared the same traditions and quirks that they did as a consequence of being so closely related. The colors, symbols and naming to mention a few. Colors all had meaning, as did their placement, the same with symbols and the bucket everyone wore. 

Working with the jetiise as closely as they did, their culture took bits and pieces that resonated with the _Vod’e_ and as it did with everything, spread to all the battalions. But when he hears a threatening form of _behave yourself_ , _traitor_ to which the response was two words that mean _‘traitorous’_ and ‘ _insane_ ’ by a childish voice, preceding what is clearly an armored fist making contact with someone’s bare skin, Bly’s already pretty sure who’s side he’s on. 

That’s even before he sees the dusty blue and the gray of beskar in the dim lighting worn by two people dragging what looks like a teenaged girl between them. 

_Kriffing, karking-!_

Bly untucks himself from the shadows and creeps up behind the two, careful to keep to the walls until he lunges forward, throwing one of his chains between target two’s legs even as he loses a coil of chains around target one’s neck and pulls back. 

His ribs scream, his arms shake, but he drops his weight and wrenches the  back, his legs kicking out to catch the small space between armor plates on Death Watch’s lower back to toss him over and behind. 

Target the second is already dropping the girl, pale blonde hair visible in the gloom and reaching for a weapon at their belt. Bly doesn’t give them the chance, jerking his chain back instantly compromising target two’s balance. 

Barely ten seconds in this fight and both of them are on the ground. Target one is still choking with the chain around their neck and Bly keeps yanking it back to ensure they stay that way. The other, Bly goes in for close combat, using his chain as bet he can with his shoulders and ribs kriffed up, but he manages to get enough wrapped around their legs and a single arm that he’s able to jab his fingers into the hollow of their throat and jerk their helmet off. 

Eyes, nose, mouth, all places Bly can do some damage, but his strength is flagging so he slams his palm into their nose, once, twice, thrice until the __goes limp.

One down, one to go. 

Bly cracks the chain and sends the last  stumbling even as he palms a vibroblade and uses the weight at the end of the chain the move himself close enough to- 

Bly swings up, twists and lets dead weight fall where it may. A moment, two, three before he breathes again, carefully, adrenaline pumping through his body. He pulls the chain taunt and swings the blade down. Metal chips, but doesn’t break so he does it again, again, again until it gives and all he’s left with is a manacle around his wrist. The process repeats until he’s free from the weight of chains and he’s free. 

An arm carefully wraps around his chest as he struggles to breathe, but he forces himself back up, to rifle through the utility belts and pockets to see what other weapons or rations he can find. The first pocket he searches has a whole flask of water and he immediately takes small slow sips, He coughs, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat, but already his day is starting to pick up. Setting the water back down, he turns his attention to the small body crumpled on the ground. 

Gingerly he makes his way over, easing himself to the floor and reaching out a hand- before pausing. All three of them spoke _Mando’a_. Even in the dim lighting, Bly can see all the bruises up and down the girl’s arms. 

So he opens his mouth to speak, only to cough, his entire body lighting up in pain as his ears start to ring. It takes a minute, but when he stops, he carefully wets his lips and tries again. 

“Hey, _._ ” 

Silence. In the hallway, there’s only the sound of his strained breathing and her soft breaths. Bly doesn’t know if she’s faking or not. Either way, he can’t afford to take any more injuries. He coughs again, hunching over and unable to avoid the low groan of pain that crawls up his throat. He does his best to breathe, there in the dark with the girl either genuinely unconscious or faking it. 

Either way, the pain is distracting him and he’s going to need to sit there for a moment before he attempts any other movements. Regardless he tries again and ignores how his voice cracks. 

“I’mma…I’mma need you to wake up here, __.”

His back burns where he’s leaning against the wall and he can feel the blood begin to drip again. He doesn’t know how much he’s lost, how many times he’s reopened his wounds, but considering how lightheaded he is, considering how everything is starting to close in on him, it’s probably more than recommended. The world blurs around the edges and his awareness drifts away for a bit. Somewhere, far away, it sounds like Aayla singing, her voice echoing with the 327th Star Corps.

* * *

““ 

Bly blinks back to awareness. The girl kneels in front of him, short blonde hair framing a pale face. Barely out of childhood, even if she looks like she’s in need of a few good meals. Then the words register. He can’t help the amusement that wells up and huffs a laugh he immediately regrets. 

“Here,” the girl says as she shoves a fist in front of him. 

He flinches back, before stilling himself. The girl doesn’t react, just holds up the water flask in her other hand. 

“It’s for the pain. The tall one carried them.” 

A breath, then he reaches out, ignoring the shaking on his hands, to let the girl drop two small pills into his hands while shoving the water at him. More careful sips as the pills go mostly dry down his throat. 

“,” Bly rasps. 

“ __,” she says, eyes running over his face, his chest, a wary twist to her mouth. “You’re no use dead.”

 _Unnecessary for her to repeat that,_ Bly thinks. 

She’s scared, he can see she is, going by the minute trembling in her hands and the way her eyes barely blink as she stares at him. His lips twitch as he runs a searching gaze over the girl. Torn clothes, almost identical to his own, only with a shirt and less blood and dirt. Thin wrists, lank and greasy hair, coupled with even more bruises he can see blooming everywhere on uncovered skin. Including on her face, as one cheek which sports several colors that frame lines of dried blood and a split lip. 

Gently, carefully, Bly lifts a hand and hovers in front of the injury. Not touching, close, but out of reach. 

“And you?” 

She blinks, startled. The barest hints of confusion crinkle her brow. Bly smiles, letting his hand drop. 

“Are you hurt, ?” A touch of fire burns in her eyes. 

“ You’re _bleeding_.” 

It’s almost an accusation, the words falling harshly from her mouth. He acknowledges the point.

“ _._ ” He continues, more solemnly, shifting his weight forward to meet her eyes, slowly enough that she doesn’t react beyond tensing her muscles. “But __is not known for being kind.”

Slowly, the girl shakes her head. A moment of silence passes and the girl watches him. Bly gets his breathing back under control and deeply appreciates as the pounding in his head fades along with the burning in his shoulders and arms. 

“By any chance, have you seen a blue Twi’lek in any of the cells you passed?” 

“We are the only prisoners in this place. There are none who come here, save for the tall one and the cold one, both of which you killed.” 

Bly studies the girl, the way the strain in her features eases as she talks about target one and two’s death, the audible note of gratitude. 

““ 

“What is yours?” 

The response to his simple question is instantaneous, her tone now biting and wary. He doesn’t react, only lets amusement tug at his mouth. 

“Bly-” 

( _“There is a name that Mandalorians use when they are disowned or cast out from their clan or family. Some chose this name as a way to seperate themselves on their own terms. Others have their names taken and are left with this.”_

 _“Considering that Jango Fett doesn’t consider us real people let alone his_ ade, _do we call ourselves this?”_

_A humorless laugh._

_“You always were the one who never hesitated to go for the throat, Kote.”_ ) 

“-just Bly.” 

“Arla.” 

Not a familiar name, even if there’s something about her face that reminds him of- _reminds him_. 

“Let’s get out of here, okay, Arla?” 

The barest hints of a smile as Bly hauls himself to his feets and then turns once he can speak without screaming or making any other noises of pain, and holds out his hand. Arla hesitates to reach out, before glancing over to the bodies. 

“Can I have the blaster if you have the vibroblade?”

“How about we see if there’s another vibroblade you can carry and I’ll take the blaster?”

* * *

A more thorough search of the bodies produces another vibroblade, a small holdout blaster (which Arla claims), a large blaster (which Bly claims) rations, two lights that work and a new set of clothes and armor for Bly. 

He makes Arla turn around while he strips the corpse of the tall one, a.k.a. target one and pulls on the armor undersuit, which helpfully compresses his ribs and then begins to strap on armor. 

“Were you conscious enough to see how many people there are in these caves?” 

Arla’s voice is soft, but it carries well as she immediately goes into an information download. 

“We came on a ship, just the three of us. There is no one else here. It’s supposed to be so secure that it doesn’t matter if you manage to escape, there’s nowhere else to go. Plus someone always comes to check every couple of days. Which is when, if they want you to live, you get food and water. This is where you get thrown when they want you to rot away and die in the dark.” 

Bly hums, carefully clicking vambraces into place, pleasure briefly rising up in his chest at the decent fit. 

“And the war?” 

Arla pauses. 

“I haven’t- They kept most of the information away from me, but sometimes I managed to hear things. Like how _ _ has a spy in _Mand’alor_ Mereel’s camp and how they’re planning how to lead them into a trap and kill them all in such a way to send a message.” 

Bly blinks, as he finishes up with tugging the last piece in place. 

“ _Mand’alor Mereel?_ ” 

Arla makes an agreeing sound. 

“Someone let slip they’re calling him _Mand’alor the Reformer_. Vizsla gets really angry when he hears that.” 

_Mand’alor Mereel._

_Jastor Mereel?_

On getting access to the holonet, one of the first things the _Vod’e_ who were interested in Mandalorian history looked up was the state of leadership. Kote was certain that he wanted to see who decided that they weren’t citizens despite being from a Mandalorain. 

Jaster Mereel was the father of Jango Fett, before he _died on Korda 6 twenty something years ago!_

Bly takes a breath, before spitting out a curse in Twi’lek, followed up by a very vehement “ _Force_!” 

Arla doesn’t say anything when Bly walked up behind her, only stared to stare, distaste clear in the disgust on her face. 

“Needs must, _ad’ika._ I need to find someone and the easiest way off this  place is on the Death Watch ship you came in one. Which”, Bly slid the helmet on, the HUB automatically pulling up and activating night vision. “Will be a thousand times easier which me pretending to be _ _” 

Again, he held out his hand. 

“.” 

A smile, small, but undeniably there as clearly seen by the display screen in his . Arla took his hand. 

* * *

The climb out of  was nothing to sneeze at, but they made it. Upon exiting, Bly couldn’t help the noise of appreciation he made at the sun setting into the distance. Or rising. Either or. 

It wouldn’t matter in a few minutes as they would be leaving the planet, deserted and rocky as it was, it offered no appeal in water or wild growing plants. The ship was there, ramp still down and Bly gently tugged Arla along, right into the ship and _take that, General Skywalker!_

_Plan A, accomplished with only a minor deviation._

Minus the either confused youngling or the apparently very real possibility of time travel. Aayla was still missing and Bly still had no idea if anyone else was missing or if it was him that was missing and not everyone else. 

For all he knew, this was something that only affected him and Aayla was completely fine. 

Surrounded by the 327th and the 501st, plus droids. 

Bly quickly scouted through each and every room in the ship, Arla right behind him, gripping her vibroblade, clearing each space before moving on to the next one. Cargo, armory, kitchen, berths, cockpit and a decent sized corner with padded seats and tables. 

Bly also ran a lifesigns sweep from the main computer before he was satisfied. It wasn’t a large ship, but it could comfortably accommodate three to four people so it would be perfect for them. He holstered the blaster and quickly ran through flight check before initiating the startup sequence. 

Arla quickly strapped herself into the co-pilot's chair, unable to contain the trails of excitement painting itself all over face. Ramp up, engines fired, all systems green, Bly slowly poured power into the system and the ship lifted off this karking planet, landing gear folding up and away. 

Before he turned around to launch into the atmosphere, he quickly toggled the weapons system, loaded up a missile and fired it without hesitation into the mouth of his former prison. The resulting explosion of stone, dirt and fire would go a long way to ease nightmares for the next weeks. 

Once they cleared the atmosphere, Bly carefully used the HUD to change all the passwords, security settings and just generally switched out who the ship’s computer’s answered to, before tugging the _ _ off and gently running a hand through his tangled hair. 

“Well, __. I’ve no place to be, but frankly I could use a shower. How about you?”

Arla looked up and smiled, eyes wet. 

“Shower and food first. Then we find our people.” 

The knot of worry in his chest eased somewhat at the assurance that now he was able to begin his efforts to find out if Aayla made it along with him and if any others did. 

“Her name is Aayla,” Bly says, longing heavy in his voice. “I don’t remember much, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.” 

Arla, stands, equal height with him before holding out her hand. She waited until Bly took it before speaking, her voice quiet but filled with the same longing his was. 

“Arla Fett. I’m looking for my brother Jango. He should be with _Mand’alor_ Jaster Mereel and the . 

Arla is curled up sleeping in the co-pilot’s chair.

It’s been almost two days since they busted out of prison.

She’s clean, dressed in a soft, oversized tunic and Bly was able to make some form of nutritious soup out of the ingredients he found in the tiny kitchen so she’s also fed.

Bly is also clean, having claimed all of target one’s clothing, personal belongings and spare armor parts for himself. The fit is decent, so nothing is chafing and Arla managed to find some paint in the cargo bay, out of which, Bly can make himself some 327th gold to correct the __blues and gray.

That’s the next thing on the list.

Right after having a very loud and angry conversation with himself in his head over the now high probability of seeing Jango Fett again. Only sans the disdain, apathy and expectation of torture that doubled as training.

He’s not… Bly is unsure how to properly process this.

But regardless of his feelings, getting Arla safely to her __is priority one.

Especially considering Bly has access to a rather extensive database of Death Watch prisoner files and Aayla isn’t on there, nor is any of his _Vod’e._ He’s also repurposed a communications array to broadcast a repeating burst of a signal that is a mix of _jetii_ and clone standard on the encryptions.

Given that ‘ _clone standard_ ’ is just modified Mandalorian standard and _jetii_ standard is very specific to _jetii_ and neither groups interact on any level beyond _hostile_ , it’s a safe bet only one of _his_ _jetii_ or his _vod’e_ would be able to decode it. 

The chances that Aayla wasn’t even thrown back into this time with him is something to consider as well. At present, there is a child that needs help getting back to her family and Bly does _not_ have the resources to search the galaxy for his General or his _vod’e._ He hates that fact so very much, but there’s nothing to be done and Bly is nothing if not pragmatic.

A rueful smile briefly touches his lips.

Aayla could act like a serious _jetii_ knight in a heartbeat. She could be serene and distant but Bly knew her well enough that she was like her master, exceedingly so.

The smiles fades as his heart lurches in his chest.

She’s not here and he doesn’t know where she is. If she’s safe, in danger, if she’s okay or not, Bly doesn't _know anything._

Just that the Prime’s sister is sleeping not three feet from him and he’s taking her back. Taking her back to the man who let the longnecks decommission thousands of children because not only were they not _‘real people’_ but they were ‘defective’.

There’s a special place in every clone’s heart for Jango Fett.

Bly is one of the older clones. 

Obedience wasn’t bred so strongly into his batch. Kote and Ret are the same, even some of the Alphas- he doesn’t want to even think about Alpha-17, that bastard-

_(“Go! Before I toss you out myself!”_

_Something explodes- shrapnel- someone screams-_

_Alpha-17 stands, a limb body tucked protectively into his side. The shock of red hair says it’s Kenobi and in the distance Bly can see blue, blue, 501st blue as General Skywalker raises his hand and brings it down with terrifying force as a sea of droids scatter into pieces-_

_Bly is running, running, running with nothing but blue, blue and shining glittering gold and-_

_Aayla gasps his name, a hand weaving through his hair to bring his closer, a press of lips against hi-_

_“Rex! Karking- Rex! RET!”_

_“Kote, take Kenobi- don’t stop,_ do you hear me? _”_

_Red, red, red- is it blood or the lightsaber of a sith? Does it matter when all he hears is the dead and dying, the punched out noise that sends chills down his back?_

_“Anakin is mine because he’s Kenobi’s! I’ve got him, Ret is down, _”)

-Bly gasps, shudders, heaving for breath even as he coughs wetly, throat tight and unable to take in oxygen, struggling to reorient himself before he passes out.

“- **_BLY!_ **”

Small hands pushing against his arm, fingernails digging into the skin. 

_Arla?_

Bly opens his eyes to find himself still in the pilot’s seat, only curled up, drenched in sweat and his heart beating like a war drum in his chest. His hands are shaking and chills rake up and down his body. Everything hurts.

He groans, crumpling back into the chair.

Arla is instantly leaning over, peering closely at him.

“ _?_ ”

“Not-” 

Words stutter out, choking off and he coughs once. Stars blink at him behind his eyes. Or in front of his eyes? They’re still drifting behind a moon several planets away from the prison planet. 

Arla’s nails dig into his forearm and Bly winces.

“ __”

“I’m fine,” Bly rasps automatically, clenching and unclenching his hands as the nightmare slips away, and all he’s left with is the impression of Aayla’s blue, Aayla’s gold and the voice of his vod’e echoing in his head.

“I’m- not anymore hurt then I was walking out,” he explains to Arla who looks panicked and concerned in equal measures, hunching her body away from him, save for the hands gripping his arm. “It was just a nightmare.”

She cocks her head, the panic receding and calculation taking its place. There’s a cold, distant expression that steals over her face and it’s disconcerting with her youthful features.

Bly would estimate her to be no more than sixteen. An adult by Mandalorian standards and ancient by clone, but he knows nat-born don’t finish developing until twenty five so he’s pretty sure she’s still in the stages of childhood that lean more towards _childhood_ then impending adulthood.

“You said you didn’t remember?”

He remembers the flashes of explosion, the screams, the way Aayla said his name- Aayla, _Aayla_ , his General, he remembers _her._

“Aayla?”

Startled, Bly’s attention focuses sharply on Arla’s face. It’s softened, but there’s still a cold calculation, and under that, suspicion. 

“Mine,” Bly says without thinking about it, struggling to articulate with the emotions that well up in his chest and rest at the back of his throat.

“I don’t know if she’s safe or not, captured or protected, I can’t- _I don’t know._ ”

Frustration bleeds into his voice and he can’t help the jerky movements he makes, as if to throw himself up and- and _pace_ or something.

Arla flinches and Bly freezes where he sits. 

Silence falls on them and Arla gently retracts her hand and folds her legs under her to sit back down in the adjoining seat. 

A beat passes, then two, then, she speaks up.

“Is she your _?_ ”

“ _,_ ” Bly whispers the word sweet and heavy in his mouth.

_(Blue, blue, gold._

_The hum of a lightsaber, the brilliant laugh as she throws herself in the air, the way she smiles at the man who raised her who never hesitates to wrap his arms around her.)_

Bly closes his eyes and feels the gentle press of lips against his, as he raises his hands to press against them. A breath in his ear as his hand slowly slides down lekku as he hitches a warm body higher against his own. 

Gold eyes, dark skin, a feral grin and Quinlan Vos stands before him.

_(“I know exactly what I’m for, Bly says stone cold, wrapping up his emotions and tucking them away ever so neatly. “To serve my jetii, with my life, my death, it doesn’t matter because neither belong to me. But I love her and she loves me back. We may never have freedom. We may never see the end of this war. But it doesn’t matter because all those things the longnecks tried to take from us, the things Jango Fett denied us possessing, all that is hers.”_

_Teeth bared, beads that caught the light and glitter, hiding in dark hair._

_Gold, gold, blue._

_“Is that all?”_

_“It’s all I have to give.”_

_“Congratulations, Bly,” General Skywalker whispers barely audible next time the 327th and the 501st are deployed together)_

“Secura,” Bly says.

Arla is standing in front of him again, a little closer. Less panic, more concern and the coldness has faded from her eyes.

“Who?”

“Me,” he says, as a tear slips unbidden down his face when a memory clicks in place.

“Bly Secura.”

Something pleased slips over Arla’s face, here then gone in just a second.

“And your _?_ ”

The smile that cuts across Bly’s face is nothing nice. It’s empty and hatred sparks in his gaze, fixated as it is on the stars shining in the distance. She startles back at the sight, wary once more, but not afraid.

“ _.”_

* * *

Jango yells, slamming a fist into the console, shoving his chair back and- and-

Slumps down, hands digging into his hair and tug, tug _tugging-_

_“Jango.”_

Jaster- _ _ there, an arm across his shoulders, pulling him back and tucking him into his side. A calloused hand rakes itself through his curls, gently nudging his own out of the way and Jango can’t help the instinctual way he relaxes into a familiar hold.

They’re in their quarters, dressed in soft cotton sleepwear and Jango had only stepped away for a moment to check on another lead for his sister. The report came back same as always- 

_Whatever was here then is not here now. We were too late._

“My son,” Jaster Mereel, _Mand’alor_ murmurs soothingly as angry tears burn Jango’s eyes.

“We have to _find her.”_

“J-”

“It’s been _years!_ ” 

“Jan-”

“I know _ _ has her! They know we know they have her! They’re flaunting her, leaving clues only to take her away again!”

 _“Jan-_ ”

“ _”_

“ **Jan’ika.** ”

His son startles in his arms, then stills and Jaster breathes a heavy sigh.

“There is always hope,” he says softly, but firmly gently stroking Jango’s curls, tightening his hold when he feels his body start to shake. “I’ll find her, _._ ”

Jaster keeps Jango in his arms until his breathing evens out, until tears no longer burn at his eyes, until the death grip on his sleep shirt loosens. Then, he bends down and snakes an arm around his legs to pull him up and closer, ignoring his grunt of surprise, to fall down into the bed.

“ _Buir!”_

“Sleep, . The galaxy will still be here when you wake.”

Despite the way his son bristles, Jaster merely tightens his grips. An adult Jango is considered, he’s still his boy and he has the right to enforce naps even if he has to put them both down for one. 

Thankfully, Jango is exhausted to the point where he only takes a few minutes to relax into the mattress and has already fallen into a light sleep by the time Jaster finishes running through all the names of his Remembrance. 

That doesn’t stop him from typing out a quick message to his second concerning surveillance around the surrounding moons and asteroids of the planet the last lead came from. An utterly deserted rocky and worthless planet, located about two days distance from their current location. It shouldn’t be too much trouble to send out a scouting ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have not done translations, but I will do them tomorrow.  
> Hopefully.  
> ....

It doesn’t take long for Bly to put his splicing skills to work, tracking down where the True Mandalorians are. While it’s not a specialty of his, his skills aren’t anything to scoff. But that’s taking into account the technology that he knows how to operate. This tech is decades out of date and it’s not helping that he doesn’t even have any contacts to poke at.

He scowls at the comm controls because the settings he’s used to manipulating with ease are now out of his grasp and he’s reminding himself that hitting it  _ will not _ help anything, and will, in fact, hurt him more then the  _ non-sapient piece of Kyr’tsad osik. _

He’s at it for the better part of the hour with little to no new information, before he decides it’s time to take a break and see if he can’t find something to fill his stomach. A quick rundown of the kitchen reveals basic supplies, ingredients and pre-made packets- enough he can at least throw together a quick soup. Better then any solids since he’s unsure how long it’s been since either of them have eaten.

Arla in particular looks like she’ll be on a more liquid diet until she starts regaining weight, considering exactly how many bones he can count just by looking at her. It doesn’t take long before the girl in question emerges from where she’s tucked herself away, no doubt lured by the smell of real food.

She had been upset but quizzical when he said his name was Naasade. Not exactly the reaction he was expecting but considering the circumstances of their meeting…

Perhaps she thought he was ex- _ Kry’tsad? _ Or was related to them and was thrown out based on his non-adherence to their beliefs? Still…she might be angry if he continues to avoid providing any kind of backstory. Not that Bly was gifted in infiltration, but Aayla’s Master was  _ Quinlan Vos _ . 

There’s a small island in the kitchen with stool neatly tucked under it and Bly sets a bowl down, generously topping it off and throwing some kind of hard cracker on top. Thankfully, there were a handful of spices he used to ensure the basic soup didn’t just taste like broth, and going by how steadily the meal was disappearing down Arla’s throat, he was pleased.

He continued randomly cleaning and rearranging the kitchen to his liking, the simple repetitions of movement calming, even though his ribs protested them. 

Healing the slow way was a  _ bitch. _

A small sound behind him makes him pause and he carefully shifts to take in Arla slumped across the table, dead to the world.

Bly can’t help the grudgingly fond smile that tugs at his mouth.

Clones of Jango Fett they may be, there were variations in hair color, eye color, weight and muscle mass. Out of all his brothers, Arla reminded him of Ret the most. Same coloring, same mulish set to her jaw- not to mention her sleeping position was one he caught Ret in loads of times.

Bly eased himself on to a stool of his own. Taking his time to pick out details that reminded him so vividly of his brothers. Of his own features. 

The variation in Ret compared to Kote or Bly were there on Arla’s face. The differing slope of her cheekbones and the arch of her nose. The little differences that allowed some of his  _ vod’e _ to pass as twins, or even brothers instead of exact copies.

He finds his thoughts drifting as he stares, able to recall the very few instances where Jango and Boba were interacting in public. So very different from the way Prime treated the rest of them. Just because they were modified, grew faster and educated by scheduled downloads. He would still grow up to look like them. Not as tall perhaps, but whatever reason why Prime considered the unaltered clone  _ family _ and not  _ them _ , Bly isn’t sure he wants to know.

Regardless of how Jango Fett is alive at this point in time, Arla is still more family then he ever was. A brilliant, courageous girl, barely bigger then Commander Tano and just as fierce. 

Even if she does appear to be sleeping at the moment.

Time passes by as he stares into nothing, thoughts whirling through his head in dizzying circles, before he blinks and realizes that he’s been staring blankly in front of himself for several hours. The ad is still at the table, breathing steady.

“ _ Kaden?” _

Bly asks the question softly enough that if Arla is still sleeping, she won’t hear over the noise of the engines. 

“ _ Nayc _ .”

She sounds grumpy, but sincere enough, so Bly doesn't repeat the question. He allows the knot of worry in his chest to unwind, before hesitating at the next question he feels the need to ask. Arla lifts her head, blinking her eyes as she tilts her head quizzically. 

“How long has it been,” he starts quietly, unable to stop his gaze from shifting away from her, “since you’ve seen your brother?”

A beat of startled silence meets his question as Arla quietly gasps and brown eyes go wide. The bleak expression that instantly makes her seem years older hurts him a little, but he waits patiently for her reply.

“Too long,” she eventually whispers in desolate tones. “I think- I think it’s been more than five years? Less than ten. I- I’m older. Two years and I should be seventeen? Maybe sixteen or- or eighteen, but I lost track dur- during my- my time with-”

Bly doesn't push, allowing her to cease speaking as each stuttered word grows softer until she’s merely mouthing the words. He couldn’t guess as nat-borns age differently but she looks around that age range. It’s not surprising anyways, if his accommodations are normal for Death Watch, she probably wouldn’t have been able to count the time well enough, let along remember an exact date from so long ago.

Not that he knows that date. Or can remember his last day in the present well enough to recall how far back he’s gone.

Arla’s face loses the lost and pained expression, anger automatically rising up to hide her vulnerability. Her eyes narrow into a sharp glare, lips curling up into a snarl.

( _ Bly thinks it reminds him far too much of Wolffe when he was a cadet. _ )

“How old are  _ you? _ ”

“Twenty-four, last I counted.”  _ Physically anyway.  _ “Possibly older depending on how long I was down there.”

Arla falls quiet as Bly eases himself back off the stool, reaching for her bowl before she snatches it away from him and carries it to the sink, pointedly ignoring him. His mouth tugs up in a burst of affection even if he chooses not to comment and starts a careful walk back into the cockpit in order to continue tapping away on the console, in an effort to coax more information from the servers.

Information on where the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ had been wasn’t exactly hard to find, once he figured out how to use the outdated systems.  _ Where _ they were  _ now _ is another matter entirely. The most he could find on their whereabouts was a contact form via a mercenary guild. 

Unfortunately, Bly wasn’t capable of putting a request through as such things required credit he did not have.

Still, not all hope was lost. Aalya was quite familiar with her Master’s work and Quinlan Vos was exactly the kind of man to have connections to all sorts of beings from the underground and Bly just had to remember who had been among the older and most established-

The proximity detector went off and Bly was on his feet a moment later with a quickly stifled grunt of pain as his attention sharpens and he lunges for the security controls.

“ _ Arla!” _

Bly is flipping switches, running down all the checks and switches for a hard launch, warming weapons and pulling it all up on the forward screen as Arla hits the deck at a flat run.

“ _ Me’bana? _ ”

Again, there’s fear in her voice, and Bly takes a moment to look back to stare at her.

“We’re not going back,” he says the way he remembers Aalya says, like General Skywalkers says in the face of overwhelming, impossible odds, right before pulling a miracle out of thin air.

Arla doesn’t quite look like she believes him, but she gives him a short, tight nod, before he turns back around to firing up the long range scanners.

“Man the guns,  _ ad’ika _ . We might need them.”

Bly hates himself for the detachment that slips into his tones as his awareness narrows down to numbers, calculations and strategies already running like lightning through his head. Arla is his and there is no way he’s going to let  _ karking Kry’tasd _ get their filthy hands back on her. His physical condition isn’t good so his best bet is to use the well-armed ship that was generously donated to facilitate their escape.

With efficient practiced motions, Arla straps herself into the chair at the console and pulls up the combat display, fingers skipping and pressing against the screen until the whole of the ship’s arsenal is spread out before her eyes.

They sit in strained silence before Bly remembers the comm systems are not as automated as they are in time time and goes to- to-

He presses down on a button and the comms crackles to life.

“- _ unknown vessel, identify yourself, unknown vessel-” _

Bly pulls deep space sensors to the pilot’s display screen, quickly running through and absently pleased to see Signal’s tricks still work on outdated and obsolete equipment.

“Where are they?”

Arla’s voice is calm and controlled but he’s not imaging the apprehension curling over her words.

Bly pulls the image to the forefront, a ship larger than theirs but built much more aerodynamically to maneuver quickly and around tight corners. Not that it’s going to matter in the void of space, but larger in his kind of circles usually means  _ outfitted with more weapons. _

That ship is exactly the kind of vessel he would choose for a scouting mission with the risk of it turning violent. Currently the only chance he saw to escape this encounter without resorting to weapons, to potentially taking damage he couldn't afford, is to burn a quick jump to hyperspace and stay there long enough to lose them.

He doesn’t know where would be safe enough space to plot a course in the first place as all the previous coordinates are likely in Death Watch territory, therefore  _ not safe _ . That’s not even mentioning he’s twenty to thirty years in the past, which means all the places he knows will be different. No one will know him, know his general and he’s a clone of  _ Jango Fett. _

Even if he manages to find the True Mandalorians, he’s going to have to keep his helmet on for the entire time he interacts with them or come up with a believable story on why he looks just like the boy.

“Are they just asking for identification?”

Bly startles out of his focus, ignoring that  _ Arla’s  _ seen his face and might have questions as soon as she’s got Jango’s to compare, but he swiftly acts by opening the communication lines. Who knows, might just be someone concerned and checking on suspicious activity, maybe pirates or merchants.

Bly presses a button.

The comms remain silent.

He swears, quietly with feeling as he attempts to open communication lines, as he jabs at another button, why are these karking systems so  _ inefficient- _

Success as the comms crackle to life.

“- _ if you do not identify yourself, we will open fire-” _

_...or not. _

Bly drags a hand down his face before reaching for the new and improved (by virtue of the gold and vivid blue covering the _Kry’tsad osik_ that absolutely matched his _beskar)_ _buy’ce_ and shoving it on his head. He shifted over to check on Arla-

_ That look on her face is exactly the face Rex makes before he does something General Skywalker would be proud of, _ Bly has half a second to think before the girl lunges, body straining against the straps to slam down the button that allows them to reply.

_ Kriff. _

“You’ll do  _ what?” _

Bly closes his eyes and gives thanks to the Force the recklessness that is present in Fett’s genetics mostly skipped him over.

On the other hand, the other ship isn’t responding. Could be from surprise at the girlish tones Bly wouldn’t have labeled as out of place on a literal child, even if Arla wasn’t quite as young as she sounded. 

S _ narling, _ she raises her voice and  _ oh, _ it sounds  _ so much _ like Kote when he’s pissed off, Bly instinctively tucks himself back into his seat. Ribs are broken, gotta keep moving to the important things.

“ _ Tion'cuy? Usen’ye! _ ”

...

Apparently not as gifted with the power of clever, biting words to get someone to do as you wish as Kote is, but Bly was sure she’d grow into it if he had anything to say. In the meantime, that had probably not won them any good will points and with the use of  _ Mando’a _ \- well weapons were hot and ready, the targeting sequence just needs a-

“ _ We come on behalf of Mand’alor Mereel to search for a lost member of the Haat Manda’ade. _ ”

Holy  _ kriffing osik. _

Arla’s sharp intake makes Bly jerk forward in his chair, slamming a hand down before she can send another transmission. The look she levels at him is way too familiar and it is very disconcerting on a feminine face, but Bly holds steady and gives her a look right back. Kote may play at being the sane one but Bly had no need for pretending.

Slowly, Arla leans back defiance bright in her eyes and a mulish slant to her jaw. Bly doesn’t care, as  _ he  _ is the actual adult in this situation and he can abso- _ karking _ -lutely pull off  _ feral-Mando-about-to-kill-someone _ better then an  _ ad _ .

“On whose behalf did  _ Mand’alor  _ Mereel make this request?”

Unlike Arla’s girlish tones, as intimidating as she tried to make them sound, Bly can actually pull off quiet menace, with implied violence in a hard understone.  _ Thank you, General Kenobi, _ Bly thinks to himself with feelings. Positive feelings, appreciation and gratitude and the like.

Dead silence over the line even as desperate hope begins to bloom across Arla’s face. The girl is virtually shining with it, even as the silence drags on.

( _ He doesn’t begrudge her what is probably her one remaining link to sanity. That her brother was going to come for her someday. Bly knows how she feels.) _

_ “Jango Fett.” _

The next second has Arla undoing her straps in order to throw herself over the arm retrainting her and inadvertently aggravating Bly’s injuries to the point where he jerks himself back and out of her way, before Arla, now with a clear path to the buttons, slams her fist down over Bly’s, instantly triggering the comms back on.

Bly’s hiss of pain is entirely audible before Arla starts rapid fire questions at the  _ still unidentified, potential Kry’tsad Mandos within firing range _ .

“Is he there? Can I talk to him? Did you tell you anything about what you were looking for? How long have you been looking? When did you-”

“ _ Ad’ika.” _

She doesn’t shrink back at his strident tone, simply bares her teeth and curls closer to the switch.

“My name is Arla Fett, I want to speak to my brother.”

Bly prays for patience because in the very real possibility that this is  _ Kry’tsad _ and Arla just revealed who they were, there are only two options left for him. He slips in a mental apology to Alpha-17 because if Ret was  _ anything _ like this, clearly Alpha-17 was- Bly forcibly derails that thought because he’s not prepared- he can’t-

( _ Focus on the mission, CC-5052. The enemy will not give you time to collect your thoughts! _ )

“If they’re Death Watch, we’re gonna be boarded. I’ll need to kill every single one of them before we’re safe and while I have no problem doing so, if one of them gets a lucky shot in, I go down. That’s only  _ if _ they don’t decide to shoot us instead and  _ then _ I’ll be praying that you are skilled enough to shoot them down before we  _ explode _ .”

Arla sets her jaw-  _ again _ , too  _ kriffing  _ much like  _ Rex- _ and Bly makes a noise of deep,  _ deep  _ frustration.

“ _ I am Omid, Clan Rook, House Kast. I am a member of the Headhunter Company which is directly commanded by the Mand’alor himself.” _

“ _ Not Kry’tsad, _ ” Arla hisses triumphantly as if people don’t  _ lie, _ what the  _ kriff. _

“If I see a hint of blue or gray on their  _ baskar,  _ I’ll snap their kriffing necks.”

“ _ You’re _ wearing blue and gray! They said Jango sent them!”

“In case you haven’t missed it,” Bly snarls deep in his throat, unable to relish how Arla flinches away from his anger. “I spent several hours putting Aayla’s gold over the  _ Kry’tsad osik _ !The only reason what  _ isn’t _ gold is blue and gray is because I took the beskar off the  _ Kry’tsad I killed because they took mine first.  _ Not even to mention, I clearly heard  _ Mand’alor Mereel sent them. _ ”

“He said  _ Jango! _ ”

“I don’t know how long I’ve been in the hell hole, nor do I know how long  _ you’ve _ been there, but are either of us up-to-date enough to call  _ bullshit _ if someone says Clan that, House this!?”

Bly regretted raising his voice when Arla freezes into stillness, emotion vanishing from her face. Right before rage replaces it and she spits out-

“How would  _ you _ know anyway? You’re  _ Naasade. _ ”

The fury takes Bly’s breath away and before he realizes, he’s standing back on his feet, his own teeth bared and hisses out his own accusation.

“Such a name I took after my genetic donor finished with his  _ training _ and threw us into war with  _ pleasure, at ten years old _ . Should I try to prod on the reason why it took you  _ five to ten years _ to be deemed unrecruitable enough to be thrown in with  _ me? _ ”

Arla’s face bleaches white, but Bly holds firm even if his heart twinges. What he said was cruel and he’ll not shy away from that. But trauma doesn’t give someone the right to hurt another to make herself feel better.

“I have known you for  _ two days _ . I have killed for you, nearly died for you and I will  _ continue _ to do so if you  _ let me _ . We’re both injured enough that if I can’t immediately surprise and overpower anyone who walks up that ramp, best case scenario is we both die. Worst case, they take us back and your brother never knows what happens to you because we’ll be rotting in  _ haran _ !”

Pain spikes across his body and Bly jerks himself away from the controls with a low groan, grabbing for the back of the chair to slowly lower himself down as his body violently protests his actions.

“Bly, you’re bleeding again!”

“ _ Osik.” _

Good news is that Arla’s decided his well being is more important than her anger. Bad news is that it’s bad enough that her anger is now less important then his well being because he’s bleeding all over the damn floor again.

“What I would give for some  _ bacta, _ ” Bly mutters, ignoring as Arla spins around to run off before hastily appearing back not even a minute later to shove a towel at him.

“I d- I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Bly interrupts exhaustion thick in his voice as his eyes slide shut. “Just hail them again to ask for coordinates to where  _ Mand’alor  _ Mereel is. Don’t mention my condition, or ask for medical supplies or rations. See if you can pull up any security features the previous owners may have programmed in.”

Arla nods, taking his words without arguing, even if she hesitates, visible concern crawling over her face before she wipes it away, turning around to do just that.

* * *

_ “Neither of them knew the comm line was open and we could hear everything?” _

_ “I guess this confirms that Jango and his vod are very much alike.” _

_ “....the other one…” _

_ “As far as I’m concerned, not yet a threat, and if he is, he’s injured enough that he’ll be easy to take down if necessary.” _

_ “And…?” _

_ “Send the recording to ‘Alor.” _

* * *

Jaster wakes when his comm beeps, opening his eyes and reaching even as Jango jolts from his own sleep, lurching straight up with a truly amusing mess of hair. With a laugh, Jaster plants a hand on his son’s curls and shoves him back down into the pillow.

“ _ Udesii! _ ”

Jango growls even as Jaster snorts and his comm springs to life.

_ “Me'vaar ti gar?” _

“ _ ‘Alor, the reconnaissance of the barren rock planet lead us to a Kry’tsad ship hidden behind an asteroid some ways away.” _

Jango shoves himself up, sleepiness vanishing without a trace as he stares hungrily at the comm in Jaster’s hand.

“And?”

“ _ We’re enroute back, their ship is following, with two individuals aboard. One has identified as Arla Fett.” _

“One?”

“ _ Another who answers to ‘ _ Naasade’ _. All our information regarding them is in the attached recordings.”  _

“Understood, report back when you’re on the approach.”

“ _ Lek, ‘Alor.” _

Jaster hangs up before turning to his son, wide eyes and hope spread all over his face. He grabs him in a bear hug, smoothing back his tousled curls as Jango shudders with the depth of his emotions.

“I told you, Jan’ika, I  _ promised.” _

* * *

Bly has combed the entire ship for medical supplies but beyond painkillers and braces for broken legs and arms, there’s not anything for his ribs or his back. Not even burn cream. 

Really, with all the stress he’s had to deal with in the last… two, three, maybe four days? He deserves bacta. Bacta that he cannot find and honestly doesn’t know if it was still around  _ twenty or thirty years in the karking past. _

Arla isn’t helping at all, mostly checking and double checking the nav computer, pulling up security protocols or watching at the hours slowly tick down. Her mood alternates between beaming joy and exuberant happiness to anxiety and fear that causes her to bite her thumbnail almost down to the quick before Bly takes to forcibly tugging at her arm to pull it out of her mouth.

She’ll allow him to touch her, take his disapproving frown, then another hour or three will pass and again, her teeth will be pulling at her nail.

Bly sighs and settles in for a desperately needed nap.

They’re still about a day out and there’s no bacta to speed up the healing so he’s got to heal the old fashioned way. For once, he appreciates the modifications made to his genetics to allow for faster regeneration. Even if he keeps managing to reopen his wounds on the very light duty he’s already pulling.

Hopefully this doesn’t turn out to be a terrible mistake and Bly gets them all killed before he even has a chance to find Aayla or his vod’e.

* * *

Jango’s taking to pacing the command deck for the last four hours and Jaster is quickly losing his patience with the constant back and forth. Every single task he’s given to his ad has been done as efficiently as can be done in as little time and honestly, the intensity that Jango is putting out makes Jaster so proud. The rest of his men are constantly checking on his son, eyes following him wherever he goes and oh, does Jaster’s heart beat with such pride. 

Fortunately, the tracking signal on the  _ Dha’werd _ hasn’t wavered and indicates the vessel should be hitting atmo in another hour. 

Another update on the situation has Jaster looking at scans of the collapsed prison that  _ Kry’tsad  _ was using for the most troublesome prisoners they didn’t yet want to kill. Judging from the damage, Arla and the mysterious ‘ _ Naasade _ ’ must have launched a missile into the entrance after escaping. 

Jango was already demanding more information on this random stranger who was probably a prisoner of Death Watch for months at the least,  _ years _ at the most. Such as what he was doing with his sister, why didn’t the scouting team just board and take his sister into protective custody.

Once Jaster handed over the recordings, his ad had replayed them several times. He often stopped and repeated certain sections before continuing with the entire recording.

Each time a little bit more confusion would etch itself into his brow.

( _ “Such a name I took after my genetic donor finished with his training and threw us into war with pleasure, at ten years old. Should I try to prod on the reason why it took you five to ten years to be deemed unrecruitable enough to be thrown in with  _ me? _ ” _

“ _ I have known you for two days. I have killed for you, nearly died for you and I will continue to do so if you let me. We’re both injured enough that if I can’t immediately surprise and overpower anyone who walks up that ramp, best case scenario is we both die. Worst case, they take us back and your brother never knows what happens to you because we’ll be rotting in haran!” _

_ An unmistakable choked off noise of pain before Arla calls out a name and the man swears) _

Finally, Jaster steps up to stop Jango’s pacing, shrugging his  _ buy’ce _ off and pressing his forehead against his boy.

“Jan’ika, each time you listen to that, you look more confused.  _ Me’bana?” _

The expression that steals over Jango’s face made Jaster’s breath hitch. The lost, painful bewilderment was something he hadn’t seen for years yet. He pulls back, laying a hand on his shoulder as he waits patiently for his son to answer and after a moment of gathering his words, Jango slowly replies with unusual hesitance.

“He sounds like- like my father.”

“Temir?”

Jaster cannot help the sheer surprise that colors his voice. He hadn’t known the Fetts for very long, and most days he can’t even recall what they looked like, but as he stops to think about it…

Yes, he can hear a familiar accent curling over a voice that Jango’s own might sound like as soon as it stops changing and cracking.

“Perhaps a relation?” 

A mild suggestion, certainly not an improbability as Clan Fett could trace it's history back for  _ centuries. _ Death Watch hunting down any other members of Clan Fett after the murder of Jango’s parents wouldn’t surprise him in the least. 

Of the complicated and no doubt confusing surge of emotions, anger rises quickly to the top and Jango makes a sound of great frustration and tosses the comm back at Jaster.

“Less then an hour until arrival?”

Comms cracks to life in his hands.

“ _ ‘Alor, we’re coming up on the planet, transmitting docking codes.” _

“Less then _half_ an hour,” Jaster amends as he stalks forward to the command desk, moving over to the security console to input the codes that will allow the bay doors to open when the signal nears closer.

He sends a significant glance to his son.

“Grab a handful of men you trust above the rest and meet me in the docking bay in twenty. Regardless of anything, this is an unknown situation and we cannot be too careful.”

Outrage blooms like fire across Jango’s face.

“That’s  _ my sister- _ ”

“Who has been in  _ Kry’tsad _ hands for  _ six years _ . Neither you nor I have any idea of what’s been done to her, or the  _ unknown _ who she referred to as  _ Naasade, _ ” Jaster counters sharply, every inch the Mand’alor, and unwilling to not drive this point home into Jango’s stubborn head. “You will be in your  _ beskar _ with  _ all _ your gear and that is  _ non-negotiable.”  _

The way his son looks at him is almost reminiscent of the early days of their relationship, but Jaster will not be moved. He’ll come around once he realizes the damage that  _ Kry’tsad _ has no issue inflicting on their ‘ _ recruits’ _ , however unwilling they are in the beginning, the brainwashing and indoctrination that is used on them produces some of the most devoted fanatics Jaster’s seen in any of his enemies.

He’d be impressed if he wasn’t absolutely disgusted by their methods.

“ _ ‘Alor, we have volunteers for the meet and greet party in docking Bay 3. Might you lead your leadership skills to narrow it down to a single squad?” _

“On my way, Tenau.”

A dramatic rustle of his cloak and Jaster only pauses to level a  _ look _ at his ad before he vanishes into the depths of their home ship.

Jango lingers a moment, before he whirls on his heel, already clicking the comm to contact one specific person.

“Myles, docking Bay 3, ten minutes. Don’t be  _ du’car, vod _ .”

* * *

It takes Bly pulling out some truly desperate measures, prodding unpleasant memories to remember exactly how to wrap his injuries to such a degree he can stand and walk almost normally. To adjust his armor and weapons so that everything was perfectly balanced enough that it would pull on any specific spots, but provide protection equally across his body.

The tricks that helped him and others survive when the longnecks were sorting through their  _ product _ looking for deviations or errors. Honestly, regardless of those nightmare inducing days, the valuable skills he learned were a large part of why he was still alive. Why many of his brothers and why Aalya were still alive. 

( _ Why Jango Fett bothered to give the name ‘Ret’ as in  _ uncertainty _ ,  _ perhaps _ or even  _ maybe _ to CT-7567, who was decanted with atypical blond hair and eyes light enough to be classified as hazel, rather then the pure brown of the Prime, Bly couldn’t say, but he was glad of it as it helped the longnecks allowed his existence to continue until his scores ensured it. _ )

Bly sits still for hours, eyes closed and concentrates on working his lungs, taking slow, deliberate breaths, ignoring how his ribs scream with even the slightest movement of his chest. There’s nothing more to be done, he’s made all his preparations, all his plans, contingency plans and even showed Arla a few shorthand signs in case- well. 

In case.

The open worry and lingering edges of fear on Arla’s face are on display when he blinks his vision back into focus at the small  _ ding _ the computer chirps to signal their imminent arrival to the coordinates. 

Another breath, another moment, because Bly reaches out, slowly, carefully and gently taps her forehead, in an imitation of a  _ keldabe _ kiss, but also smoothing out the furrows stress has caused.

“ _ Udesii, ad’ika. _ ”

The fact that Arla doesn’t flinch but rather steps closer to him, speaks volumes on her emotions at the moment. The trust she shows him doesn’t prepare him for the way her words tumble out of her mouth, the way her hands tremble as a dawning realization darkens amber eyes into brown.

(Bly  _ aches _ for Ret, with his blond hair and gold eyes, so much like Arla,  _ Arla _ who is  _ aliit.  _ Arla, who Jango Fett must have seen in his brother, one of the few surviving variations with the flawed coloring the longnecks disliked so.) 

“ _ Tion’meh- _ ”

The sudden rage takes him by surprise, but Bly doesn’t hesitate to bare his teeth and speak softly, quietly and as indisputable as General Kenobi when the Jedi says  _ no _ .

“What if  _ nothing. _ If your  _ vod _ is not there, we will  _ leave. _ If this is  _ Kry’tsad, _ if this is a  _ trap _ , you-”

“I’m not leaving you!” Arla snarls, small hands reaching out to dig into the edges of his armor plates. “You freed me! I’m here because of  _ you! _ Where you go,  _ I  _ go,  _ tayli'bac? _ ”

The swell of emotions in his chest hurts like fire and Bly cannot breath with the pain of it, but again, he stretches out, again he softly taps her forehead. But this time, his fingers swept over flushed skin and gently slides through tousled hair as his thumb brushes across her cheek.

“Okay,” he whispers hoarsely, as his ears echo with the screams of a hundred voices, all promising the same thing.

(- _ sometimes that voice is  _ his _ and he  _ lies-)

“Okay,” Arla repeats firmly, the painfully familiar expression of mulish stubbornness receding into something that warms his heart in his chest.

Bly breaths, leaning forward as he carefully tugs his hand back. Arla shifts with the motion and-

He’s not wearing his helmet and neither is she, so he can clearly see when a shudder rolls across her spine as their foreheads meet and the tension in her shoulders drains out.

“You say the word,” Bly speaks, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the ship, “and we  _ leave. _ No questions asked.”

His grip tightens as he pressed forward, waiting until her eyes open to look at him.

“My  _ aliit _ are gone from me. I do not know where they are, if they are safe, if they live. To find them is my greatest mission.”

Something in Arla’s eyes shutter, her spine curving back and head tilting away, but Bly doesn’t let her pull back before he speaks again.

“But you are my highest priority and I will not abandon you unless I know you are safe.”

Her breath hitches and tears rise to her eyes, as heat blooms high on her cheeks. She mouths words, but doesn’t find the strength to voice them, only hissing out a frustrated whine as Bly smiles, softly and gently at her, wrapping his arms around her in a proper hug.

“My  _ vod’e _ are strong and clever, so even if I worry for them, I know they are not defenseless,” he confides in her, relishing in memories of Ret, of Kote, Alpha-17- the only father Bly will ever wish for in the rare moments of stillness silence provides. “Aalya…”

His voice trails off.

( _ -the way her laugh rang off of cave walls because of something he said. How she would flick out her ‘sabers and in barely an instant level an entire squadron of droids, then leap so high into the air it looked like she was dancing through the skies- _ )

“My Aayla is bold and brilliant, made of blue skies and gold, bright as the  _ ka’ra _ . I worry because she is gone from my side, but it’s not hard for me to believe that she pulled together another reckless and entirely clever plan and made it safely to wherever she is now.”

Against his shoulder, Arla sniffles, pulling away only to make a face at him.

“You look stupid,” this precious child says haughtily and Bly barks a laugh, wheezing at the pain.

“I hope you understand one day,” he says, amusement curling around his words. “But enough, we’ll be docking shortly and, Force willing, you will be reunited with your brother.”

_ The boy who grew up and made I and my vod’e and threw us away without hesitation or care, the man who didn’t give a kark if the longnecks took those deemed unworthy and never returned,  _ he doesn’t say.

Bly shakes those dark thoughts away with practiced ease and pulls himself to his face, watching as Arla steps back and tucks every bit of emotion back into the layers of her cold and empty mask.

The smile that tugs at his lips has no mirk it in, a hard slash of grim understanding on how exactly one builds that exact expression. 

“One last chance to make a break for it.”

The mask falls in an instant as Arla jerks her head up, betrayal painted all over her features. She pauses when he continues to stand there, looks at him just like he’s looking at her, searching for something to give.

“No,” she rasps, terror and desperate hope glimmering in her eyes.

She clears her throat, as resolve settles her turbulent emotions.

“No,” she says again, stronger, determined. “We came all this way, it’d be a waste to turn back now.”

Her piece said, she turns on her heels and marches to the cockpit.

“Fair enough,” Bly murmurs to himself, rolling his shoulders back to slowly follow in her wake, easing himself into the pilot’s chair. “Buckle up, we might dock into a ship or break atmo to land on the surface. Be prepared for either.”

“ _ Lek.” _

_ And may the Force be with us,  _ Bly silently pleads as he brings the ship out of hyperspace, taking in the new constellations and the planet that takes up an entire corner of the central viewport .

Including the absolutely massive ship that hangs in orbit the mythosaur painting in bold relief on the outside plating. With all the docked ships bearing their own clan and house symbols,  _ Bly’s never seen so many Mandlaorians in one place before. _

“ _ Osik.” _

Bly reaches for the helmet, brushing over newly painted gold and slides it firmly on his head.

“Here goes nothing,  _ ad’ika. _ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i did not do translations, but i wrote another chapter so....i think that equals things out

Jango watches, short of breath with his heart pounding in his ears as the ship, clearly of  _ Kry’tsad _ design and make lands sandwiched between two escorts with the scouting ship firmly behind it. Slowly time ticks by as ramps slide open on every craft, save for that one.

The docking bay is crowded, with Mandos lining the walkways, milling about, some dressed in full  _ beskar _ and others stripped down to soft tunics and pants, simply enjoying free time. Nevertheless, everyone here is in possession of their weapons and all their attention is focused on the newly arrived spacecraft.

Jaster stands in front of him, and a part of Jango is pleased that  _ buir _ isn’t hesitating to place himself between potential  _ Kry’tsad _ hostiles, but  _ this is his sister. _

With that thought in mind, as soon as the ship depressurizes and the ramp begins to lower, Jango’s already lunging forward, dodging the reflexive arm that  _ buir _ sweeps back to prevent him from running ahead. The severely displeased snarl the man makes would normally freeze him in his tracks, but he’s spent  _ years _ and  _ Arla’s finally here again. _

There’s a shout, the  _ clank _ of  _ beskar  _ against  _ beskar _ , metal on metal and the wipe of a blaster, but the ramp hits the deck and a small figure ducks down, stumbling against the grates and  _ oh. _

_ Oh. _

Jango yanks off his  _ buy’ce _ and reaches out as Arla- as  _ his sister  _ looks up, gold eyes, gold hair set in a face that looks  _ so much _ like their mother that he’s almost forgotten. 

He clocks the heavy armored boots the stop just at the top of the ram, only just close enough to see inside, and he keeps an eyes on them, but as Arla’s arms open and he can see the way she’s smiling at him, eyes wet, he dismisses Nasaade as a threat.

Jango and Arla collide with cries of joy, slamming armor into armor, grabbing and holding on to whatever part of them is closest. 

“ _ Jan’ika, _ ” his big sister weeps into his shoulder, her arms tight enough to hurt around him.

The words won’t leave his throat, as a sob catches on the rough edges of his teeth yet Jango hugs back just a hard, squeezing his eyes shut as he buries his head into her hair. She sinks to her knees and he follows, squeezing closer as she tugs him closer.

Time passes as Jango holds on to his sister, as she whispers his name, speaks of her joy at his presence, that he’s alive, that  _ they're okay.  _ The reunited siblings are entirely ignoring the tension laying thick and heavy in the docking bay as Jaster watches an armored figure silently steps down the ram and ever so closer to the  _ Mand’alor’s ad _ and the girl claiming to be his sister.

“ _ Ad’ika _ ,” a voice so much like his father’s rumbles, loud enough he can hear the growl of the vocalizer.

Jango looks up, blinking away tears to a Mando in gold armor.

He inhales, shifting a hand to wipe away the tears on his face and wonders at so much gold, gold for vengeance, for  _ Aalya,  _ the stranger mentioned on the recording. 

The man wears his undersuit in pure black, but with the way the lights of the bay shine, he can see spots that catch the light and he remembers the noise of pain the man made when- when.

“ _ Jan’ika, _ ” Arla says, pulling back even as her grip loosens so she can cup his face with her hands.

“ _ Arla _ ,” Jango whispers reverently, his focus immediately returning to her as his eyes start tracing familiar features, his gaze catching at the small scars that litter her face and her neck. “I  _ found _ you.”

His ori’vod  _ laughs _ . It sounds like his mother, the way she used to laugh and he- he had forgotten how that sounded. Jango grits his teeth against another wave of tears and shoves himself back to his feet, tugging at her armor to get her to stand up.

“Here,” he says as he looks down at his sister, who looks so much smaller then he remembers. “Let me- There’s something I want you to meet.”

He can’t bring himself to call Jaster  _ buir _ in front of her. He doesn’t know how she’ll take it and he doesn’t know about- that man who Arla said was called  _ Naasade. _ When he moves back away, however, Arla doesn’t move. She stands still and stronger then she looks and stares up at him.

The blankness of his expression causes the anger to rise up so swift it almost chokes him.

What the  _ kriff _ did  _ Kry’tsad _ do to her? Why did such a simple request put such a look on her face?

( _ For an instant, Jango hears Jaster’s words, hears the words of others he’s listened to these long si xyears creep into his head. _

_ ‘Who knows that  _ Kry’tsad _ has done to her?’  _

_ ‘What if they’ve made her like the rest of the fanatical zealots?’ _

_ ‘He shouldn’t get his hopes up, they might have broken her already and all she’ll do is lead him straight back to those  _ hut’uun.’)

“This is Bly,” Arla says abruptly, her fists clenching and unclenching against his  _ beskar _ plates.

Jango blinks as Arla takes a step back, ignoring how the Mandos surrounding his  _ buir _ instantly ready their weapons. She doesn’t even react to them, and neither does the Mando standing at the foot of the ramp. He’s not five steps from the ramp to a  _ Kry’tsad _ spacecraft, with his sister tightly gripping his armor and a stranger in front of him.

He doesn’t want to doubt her, it honestly hurts something in his chest for those thoughts to even enter his mind, but  _ buir’s _ words are ringing in his ears and-

Behind him, the  _ Mand’alor _ walks slowly ever closer, his surrounding Mandos with hands on their weapons even if he appeared to me unarmed.

“Ar-”

“Bly, this is my  _ vod, _ Jango,” his sister announces, a familiar twang of a Concord Dawn accent curling her words.

The Mando does not move, only stands in the suddenly suffocating silence.

Jango stares, then blinks. 

_ Oh, _ he thinks to himself.  _ Arla’s afraid he’s going to leave her there. _

One on hand, he understands because this man got them out, got them safe and brought her all the way back to Jango. On the other, this man represents more safety then  _ Jango himself _ at this moment. It hurts, but he will support this sister because Jaster’s told him many times that  _ Kry’tsad _ has hurt Arla, done everything they could to make her  _ one of them _ and if this Mando makes her feel safe, Jango will get  _ buir _ to adopt them  _ both. _

Decision made, Jango, presses a fist against his chest and jerks his  _ buy’ce _ down in sharp gratitude. 

Slowly, the man inclines his head in return, before shifting his weight and taking a single step forward. Then he pauses, as if expecting someone to take expectation to his actions. When no one draws a weapon on him, he takes another slow, careful step and another until the Mando walks within arms length of both Jango and Arla. 

Behind him, Jaster has done the same, only taking steps two at a time until on one side, stands Mand’alor Mereel, the Reformer, while on the other, an unknown Mando in armor that once clearly belonged to  _ Kry’tsad _ stands, covered in gold for vengeance. 

In between, stand two long lost siblings, reunited. 

Jango pulls himself together enough to remember the lessons in diplomacy Kyra of Clan Wren insisted he needed. A greeting was the proper way to start things, so he leads with that.

“ _ Olarom _ -”

“If she starts bleeding, do you know where to take her?”

“ _ Me’ven? _ ” Jango blurts out in his confusion, because  _ what? _

“ _ I’m not bleeding!” _

Jango blinks at the level of volume Arla shouts at- at Bly...Naasade?- it almost drowns out his startled question.

The helmet tilts and the shoulder rolls back, the man settling his weight into something less intimidating even as he completely ignores the tens of  _ Haat Mando’ade _ that stand before and around him, ready to back up their Mand’alor who stands not even five paces away.

“We busted out from a  _ Kry’tsad _ prison a handful of days ago,” Bly says matter-of-factly. “I tended to the injuries as best I could, but there’s no kriffing bacta so if she starts bleeding, I need to know where your first choice to take her is.”

_ What. _

What does that even  _ mean? _

“Medbay?” Jango hazards a guess, scrunching his face in confusion even as Arla bristles next to him.

“Good answer,” the Mando hums in approval, the tilt of his helmet practically radiating relief before he turns on his heel and swiftly backs away to stalk up the ram. 

Arla screeches  _ right in his ear, Jango has absolutely forgotten she used to do that, what the kar- _

“ _ Bly! _ Don’t you  _ dare!” _

Jango finds himself hauled forward as his sister isn’t inclined to let him go, then again, neither is he, but apparently she still feels the need to go after-

Another hand clamps down like a vice on his shoulder, Jango lurches as he’s shoved back, slipping from his sister’s grasp. Terror rise up and chokes his breath as Arla vanishes behind a wall of  _ besakar. _ The next second has a part of him relaxing into the half embrace of his  _ buir _ , before he shifts around to see and catches the way Arla flinches at the sight of Jaster’s other hand reaching for her. The next second, he’s spun around and bodily moved as something hard and metal hits the floor and Arla makes a choked off noise of  _ fear- _

(- _ he can remember then way Jaster held him down in that field, muffling his screams as blasters fired and fired and when he finally gotten free, how the scent of burning flesh and hair hung heavily in the early morning and the desperation in his voice as he screamed for Arla- _ )

“ _ Arla! _ ”

Jango can’t see anything save for his _buir’s_ _beskar_ and he swiftly begins to fight against the grip that is keeping him _away from his sister!_ His thoughts scatter and condense into the terror-bright repetitions of his sister’s name, of the endless determination of _not again, please, not again-_

Behind him, Jango registers the pounding of boots

“Do  _ not  _ kriffing  _ touch her. _ ”

Jango hauls himself around, ducking under the arm that now has a blaster firmly leveled at the oth- at  _ Bly _ , who has Arla in much the same position, hidden entirely behind his body. 

“ _ Buir! _ ”

Jango’s voice cracks with the volume of his voice as rage heats his veins.

_ Buir is pointing a  _ blaster  _ at  _ my sister!

Jango blinks and then he registers the other blaster that Bly has pointed at his  _ buir _ . His breath hitches before he  _ snarls _ and draws his vibroblade to slash at whoever is holding him back and slams a booted foot into the back of Jaster’s knee.

Instantly, the Mand’alor buckles forward, giving Jango a chance to vault himself over his  _ buir _ with the assistance of his jetpack and land heavily in front of Bly who swiftly pulls the blaster away to aim at the ground to the side.

“You can’t leave,” Jango says, understanding the feral look on Arla’s face, that she can’t let Bly leave, that Bly is safe for her and he needs everyone to not do anything to  _ make _ Bly leave so they  _ both _ can  _ stay _ .

Unfortunately, his words hit a soft spot and Bly instantly bristles visibly under his armor.

The commandos are already gearing up, shouting orders and leveling their sites on Bly’s golden  _ beskgar _ and  _ that’s his sister _ standing behind him so his choice of covering the front is only going to deter everyone  _ behind him _ . 

Which, luckily, includes his  _ buir. _

His  _ buir _ who has recovered and is not even a step behind him, and-

**_“Motir daab!_ ** ”

Jango winces because that was both internal and external comms.

Jaster Mereel stands in the middle of the chaos, fist held up and instantly, the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ grind to a halt. Weapons are lowered and those who were racing towards them come to a halt and for a moment there is nothing but ringing silence and stillness.

Arla breaks it first, with a wounded noise as she tugs on Bly’s armor.

“You said you wouldn’t leave!”

It’s an accusation, snarled out with all the desperation of a feral child about to watch their only safe person walk away and Jango reaches out his hand.

He’s here, isn’t he? She’s not alone.

He almost sags with relief when Arla swiftly snatches his hand and grasps it closer to her, pulling him in as she does. Jango doesn’t look back because he already knows that Jaster is deeply unhappy with how close he is to the Mando in  _ Kry’tsad _ armor no matter how much gold paint he’s sweared it with. 

Bly... _ rumbles _ . 

It’s not any word or language but his sister’s breath hitches and the wild edges of her expression fade and she blinks rapidly.

“You said you didn’t know where to look, that I was your highest priority. You can’t  _ leave. _ ”

Bly’s  _ buy’ce _ tilts and Jango lifts his chin as he feels the weight of the Mando’s gaze.

“She’s my  _ vod, _ ” Jango answers the unspoken questions. “But while I may trust her, because Jaster adopted me-” 

Arla whips around to stare, wide eyed and gaping at the intimidating figure of  _ Mand’alor _ Mereel in his battle scarred amor and the expression that steals over her face is a complicated mix of emotions before she wipes them all from her face and looks down, tightening her grip on her brother and the unknown Mando.

“-my position is of someone who is informed and trusted in the circles of decision making and some of the others fears what  _ Kry’tsad _ may have done to her in the time they held her as a prisoner.”

_ I don’t care how pointless I thought her lessons, I’m willing to spend more time learning from Kyra, _ Jango thinks to himself as his  _ buir _ remains silent behind him and Bly seems content to bore a hole in his soul with his  _ buy’ce _ alone.

At his back, Jaster shifts close and his external comms click on with a barely audible sound.

“I would-”

Ruthlessly, the Mando in gold cuts off Jango’s  _ buir,  _ irnoging how several of the Mandos bristle in offense. 

“They starved her, beat her, fed her any information tailored to cause her pain,” Bly states almost emotionally. “They called her  _ auretii _ if she did not do as they demanded, as they ordered. They denied her anything that would allow her to fight back. Her health, freedom, food, and denied her the culture she was born into and thus she survived and  _ resisted _ for-”

Bly cuts himself off, his body language changing, shifting into something softer as he leans towards Arla and gently, softly asks-

“How long did they have you,  _ ad’ika? _ ”

_ Over six and a half years,  _ Jango opens his mouth to say.

“I don’t know,” the whisper quiet admittance of  _ his sister _ ensures the words never leave his mouth. 

Behind him, Jaster makes a quiet noise of hurt.

Jango’s next breath shudders.

“More then five, less then ten,” Arla says, “ _ Kry’tsad _ didn’t allow me to keep track of time so I had to make do with how much I grew and whenever someone slipped out a mention of the anniversary of a historical event I could remember or a festival I knew was held at certain seasons or years.”

Someone helpfully called out the exact Galactic stardate. Bly grimaces and the faint confusion that Arla shows entirely how helpful the  _ date _ is to them. A few Mandos shift uneasily at the nearly correct assumption that they have both been held so long, they’ve forgotten the dates.

“It’s your seventeenth birthday in four months,” Jango forces the words out and watches as something pleased and deeply happy touches the edges of his sister’s mouth.

“I was right,” she explains, looking up to Bly, “I said I thought I was around sixteen or so.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, allowing a smile to curve her lips. To Jango, she says excitedly- 

“And your birthday was a month or so ago? I can’t remember, but you’re fifteen, right?”

Arla laughs in delight, squeezing her fingers so Jango can feel the pressure under his gloves.

“If the cold one was still alive, I’d spit in his face on how successful I was in keeping track of my age contrary to his best efforts.”

His  _ vod _ turns, expectantly towards Bly, something like the ghost of a familiar mischief coloring her voice.

“Are you still twenty four, or maybe a year or two off?”

The awkward silence that falls at her question was not the intended result that Arla was aiming for, judging by the expectant glee falling to be replaced by sheer rage when Bly only stands there, still and silent.

“How long did you spend as  _ Kry’tsad’s  _ captive, Mando?”

Jango shifts to lean closer to his sister, allowing his  _ buir _ to step closer, somewhat relieved his  _ buir _ isn’t allowing him to take point on diplomatic relations with the unknown Mando who rescued his sister.

He bends down, pressing his forehead against Arla’s, breathing in and finally relaxing at that one part of him that next seemed to heal from her absence stopped aching and throbbing in his chest.

“I feared I would never find you,” Jango whispers quietly under his breath, ignoring as his  _ buir  _ and Bly begin to speak to one another. “I used to dream I would find you, then I would wake and you-”

“I used to dream someone would come for me and I would be free.” Arla whispers in return. “Sometimes it would be  _ buir, _ sometimes you- or a random person I saw when I managed to escape for a day or two. It felt like I’d been taken again, even time I woke up.”

“They’ll never take you again,” he swears fervently, “I promise, I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Jan’ika. I didn’t think I’d survive much long as  _ me _ in that place.”

* * *

Bly doesn’t  _ quite _ regret his actions, but the emotions that surge up when he watches as Jango Fett pulls off his  _ buy’ce _ and  _ runs _ for Arla is...complicated. 

He looks  _ different. _

Perhaps there was more variation in all the  _ Vod’e _ because while the teenager that Jango Fett was could and would absolutely pass as a clone cadet, there was something about his facial features, about his bearing that Bly couldn’t reconcile with the man that he knew. 

He was, to put it bluntly, softer. 

There was anger in him that Bly knew, but nothing like the rage that burned constantly in the Prime, nothing like what would shape him into such a man that Bly and the rest of his brothers had known, admired and  _ feared. _

Jaster Mereel.

_ Mand’alor _ the Redeemer- the sheer  _ presence  _ of the man made the hairs on the back of Bly’s neck stand up. He wouldn’t put it past him being at some level of Force-Sensitivity because the feeling that he was receiving from him was much like  _ Mace kriffing Windu. _

Ponds always brags that General Windu was a very compassionate man, with a fondness for children and teaching. Even if the  _ jetii _ usually came across as harsh and unyielding, Bly saw exactly how General Billaba treated her padawan and going byt the standard measure of  _ jetii _ interactions, that meant that Ponds was correct.

That the  _ Mand’alor _ was apparently similar enough to remind Bly, who had only met General Windu a handful of times, was a solid point in the Mandalorian’s favor in his books.

Still, there wasn’t much he could read from the man’s face as his  _ buy’ce _ was covering his features. Bly made do with body language and the apparently universal language of a people who spent half their lives in a helmet.

_ So quick to call us soulless, to denounce us a Mandalorians, as  _ people _ and yet here I stand in front of the Mand’alor himself and am regarded as one of them, _ Bly cannot help the bitter thoughts that spring to the forefront of his mind.

Still, as Arla and- her  _ vod _ reunite in front of his ship, and the boy’s shoulders are shaking, and he can clearly see the wetness of tears trailing down his cheeks. Ar’ika holds him and only pulls back when she barks Bly’s name, introducing them as if they have never met before.

As if Bly doesn’t admire and hate and so many other conflicting feelings that he cannot even put into words how he feels about Jango Fett. He’s introduced to him as a stranger and that sits awkwardly in his mouth.

Still, he steps closer and musters up a smile, and goes with a standard line of inquiry, because he’s been dreaming of  _ karking bacta _ for a  _ week. _

Besides, at the very least, he needs to instill a respect for medbays and medics in Arla before he goes to find out where the haran his  _ Vod’e _ and Aalya have gotten to. If he’s the one who is missing or if they’re scattered across this time in this galaxy.

Luckily, the boy answers the questions correctly and Bly cannot help the way he feels himself soften. It reminds him of his own reunion, after Zygerria, after Rattatak, seeing as Ret, as Kote came back when he feared they would not.

Even Alph-

( _ “I couldn’t even  _ name you! _ You were all  _ mine _ and what scraps of care Jango Fett threw out was more then I could bargain, negotiate and rationalize away without fearing they would take you from me. What made me an Alpha, what formed me and shaped me is nothing what I wanted for  _ any  _ of you!” _

_ Alpha-17 stands at parade rest across from him, face void of emotion, and yet the way his eyes were fixated on him gave the impression of a great deal of unspoken feelings. _

_ Bly can’t speak, doesn’t know what to say, but at his side, Ret takes a step forward, gently tugging off his bucket to look up, to fix his gaze with that of their Alpha. _

_ “What would you have named me? If the longneck's attention slipped, if Jango never labeled me for the uncertainty my color variation made my survival, what would you have called me?” _

_ They stand there in silence and Bly- Bly wants to leave, want to go back to General Secura, to Aalya, he doesn’t want to know, he can’t bear to  _ know-

_ “I named you Rex, ad’ika,” Alpha-17 says in a stricken whisper. _

_ Ret stumbles back, just as Kote surges forward, a snarl twisting his face but- Alpha-17 speaks again, this time with the heat of anger, his arms slipping from his back to hang, hands fisted at his sides. _

_ “Did you think it was a mere error in the files? That the Kaminoans wouldn’t have happily memorized every single number and continued to call their product as such? It took  _ years _ for a group of us to cut into files and admin systems until we ensured that every clone had a ‘nickname’ attached to their file- even if it was blank.” _

_ Alpha-17 shoves himself forward, reaching out to grasp Ret’s shoulder and there’s something in his face that Bly’s never seen before, never knew an Alpha would know how to-  _

_ Bly breaths and tries not to choke on the want that rises in his throat. _

_ “I  _ named you, _ Rex,” Alpha-17 hisses, sliding up a hand to dig into the back of Ret’s neck even as he stares wide eyed in shock at his trainer. _

_ Alpha cuts his eyes to the side, pinning Kote in place with the sheer rage he can see glimmering in their depths. _

_ “I named you too,” he says softly, fiercely. “My revenge against Prime.” _

_ Kote’s breath hitches and Alpha reaches out with his other hand and lays it on his shoulder. The look on his face, Bly doesn’t- Bly takes a step back _

_ Alpha sees it, but he doesn’t reprimand him, doesn’t comment, only  _ looks  _ at him and Bly- Bly- _

_ “Jango Fett fought a  _ jetii _ and didn’t manage to kill him. He took Boba and  _ left _ and that was all we needed to complete the files. When the order for deployment came, did you not wonder why every single order you were required to read on your display contained your number, your rank and a name?” _

_ “You-” _

_ Kote doesn’t get a chance to begin as Alpha-17 gives him a shake, his voice still quiet, still hard as  _ beskar _ as he speaks. _

_ “I gave you to Kenobi because he came for us, he ended the nightmare that was the Kaminoans undivided attention on us. He gave us  _ jetii _ who at the  _ very least _ would pretend to  _ care. _ And no one will ever deny General Ti’s dedication to the  _ Vod’e. _ ” _

I was never special enough to get the Prime’s attention, not like Kote, not like Ret, and I didn’t mind because all I wanted was yours,  _ Bly thinks to himself and wonders in awed shock if Alpha- if  _ Alpha-

_ “Kenobi’s mine now as well, that makes Skywalker, Tano and theirs  _ mine _ as well, but you have been mine since the day you were assigned to me and  _ nothing _ has changed that.” _

_ “Did you name me?” _

_ The question is ripped from him because Bly never named himself, didn’t allow himself to care as much, didn’t want to get his hopes up. _

_ Nothing he ever wished for came to pass. _

_ He was always too greedy, too quiet, too easily fixated on things that were not as important. A name was assigned to him, it was better then a string of numbers so he accepted it and never thought anything of it, never cared until the day General Secura said his name. Said it like it was precious, like it  _ meant _ something. _

_ They stand there in the stillness, in a rare privacy and then Alpha-17 sighs, deeply and slowly releases his hold on- on Kote and Ret. _

_ To Bly, Alpha-17 walks and he holds himself still unable to lift his head, to lock eyes as Kote, as Ret as done and he can’t- he doesn’t- _

_ Alpha-17 doesn’t touch him, only stands so close, Bly can feel the heat of his body, his breath as it rustles his hair and he doesn’t move. _

_ “Of course I did. You are mine now as you were then.”) _

Bly turns on his heels as his head throbs and rings and tears rise to his eyes and he  _ can’t- _

“ _ Bly! _ Don’t you  _ dare!” _

He startles and turns, taking in the docking bay of the command ship of the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ fleet and flinches as a rush of sound washes over him and his heart skips a beat.

Arla runs for him, dragging her brother along without so much as a by-your-leave and Bly almost smiles over the panic before he sees the  _ Mand’alor _ lunge towards Arla and Bly’s head go blank when he sees how she catches the movement and flinches and raises her arm as if to protect her head.

Bly grabs his ad and  _ pulls _ , Jango following close on the heels of his sister before Jaster Mereel manages to get a hand on his shoulder and shoves him back, ripping him out of Arla’s grasp, to her immediate panic.

The man goes for his blaster, and all around him, every single Mando with a line of sight on him does the exact same thing.

He’s got Arla tucked behind him, the large blaster he lifted from the Death Watch scum leveled steady at Jaster Mereel and his head is still ringing with Alpha-17’s words from he doesn’t even know how long ago. Everything is quiet and still and for a moment he wonders if he’ll be able to shoot Mereel, grab Jango and successfully escape with both siblings before he realizes that’s suicidal and  _ stupid. _

Still, the karking  _ Mand’alor _ needs to keep his hands off other people’s ade.

“Do  _ not  _ kriffing  _ touch her. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> also can someone tell me how i make hover texts so i can translate shit??
> 
> someone has showed me tutorials which i did not know exited and i know how to make hover text.  
> ish  
> there is some trial and error, but i am aware of it so if you comment on problem areas please put context so i can fix


End file.
